


Alone, Taken

by Lilili_cat



Series: Marriage Hunt AU [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Dirty Bad Wrong, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Poor Tobirama, Porn with Feelings, Sorry Not Sorry, This is all Drelfina's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 00:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19841848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilili_cat/pseuds/Lilili_cat
Summary: A good shinobi makes sacrifices for his clan.A good shinobi makes sacrifices for his Anija.A good shinobi makes sacrifices for the good of his people.Tobirama wishes he weren't a good shinobi.





	Alone, Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drelfina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drelfina/gifts), [diana_of_hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diana_of_hufflepuff/gifts).



> To Drelfina and diana_of_hufflepuff, this is all your fault, and I hope you two are happy. :P

**Alone, Taken**  
  
  
The letter, when it arrives, is utterly insupportable. The Uchiha accept the ceasefire and the possibility of jointly creating a village together with the Senju, but the conditions...They may as well chain the Senju now and ground them into the dust with their sandaled feet. Secondary status in the truce, to be solidified in writing should the village be formed. A monopoly on all weapons to be created, maintained, distributed and sold by the Uchiha alone, with their clan getting first pick. All _marriage_ hunts to be valid _only_ if approved by the Uchiha Elder council, even the ones that don't concern them. And only one out of the seven proposed village advisory group seats reserved for the Senju, three for the Uchiha, one for the Daimyo and two for minor clans.

It isn't quite a demand for surrender, but it might as well be from how well Tobirama takes it. “They're joking,” he says as he scans the contents, his voice not quite a whisper, not quite a growl. He thinks to Uchiha Madara's smoldering dark eyes the last time he beheld him across the battlefield. He remembers Uchiha Izuna's intense gaze on the other side of a locked blades. His hand trembles and nearly crumples the sheet, but the words do not magically change in front of his eyes. “The elders would never agree...”

But his Anija might. More and more deaths at the hands of the Uchiha, despite both Hashirama and Madara's attempts to reign in the bloodthirstiness of the elders, far removed from the actual combat themselves, who spur on the never-ending cycle of blood that spawns more blood. More and more children left orphaned even if the children themselves are not outright targets anymore—ah, but children have still been dying and Tobirama would venture a guess that it is still at a higher rate than if no children at all are being targeted—and more and more weariness from the actual fighting-age shinobi no mono trapped in this endless hell.

Accepting secondary status forever, yoked to the Uchiha in such ways...enough Senju might stomach it to end the fighting, _Hashirama_ likely would, but it is intolerable. A calculated hand to stroke the fires of outrage and send the entire peace gambit into failure. The Senju Elders would most definitely not accept.

And Hashirama isn't strong enough to force them on his own. Only with Tobirama's backing, the first and second in the clan united and combined, can they force the acceptance.

A low blow to cleave brother from brother in such a way.

Hashirama would be crushed. To have the first tentative acceptance of their peace offers rejected so forcefully, to have the reason be Tobirama's obstinacy about this issue, for it to be Tobirama causing his beloved Anija such disappointment...It is a pain that he cannot bear.

He can't doom his clan like this. Perhaps if the terms were more fair, but for his loved ones to forever be lesser, for them to accept _defeat_ when, by all rights, they are the stronger of the two...He shall have to bear his Anija's bitter disappointment once again. He shall have to be the warmonger who will not stop, cannot stop. If it's between clan and Anija, then Tobirama will reluctantly choose clan, and that is a thought that nearly breaks him, his loyalty split in a way that he never once thought possible.

Tobirama's hand loosens, and a slip of paper, its rice glue loosened by his earlier clenching, flutters to the ground. In a sharp, precise hand, the strokes much more angular, almost military, than the first sheet, it lists a markedly different set of conditions.

_Joint status as founders, with neither Uchiha nor Senju above the other._

_A monopoly on all weapons production for the Uchiha since we interbred with blacksmith stock and produce some of the finest of Hi no Kuni, but distribution and sales are open to the Senju and secondary markets are legal._

_All marriage hunts to be valid only if approved by the proposed Village Elder Advisory council, with two seats reserved for the Uchiha, two for the Senju, one for the Daimyo and two for minor clans._

_Senju Tobirama to be marriage hunted by Uchiha Madara and Uchiha Izuna, at which successful conclusion, Senju Tobirama will join the Uchiha clan as a wife and become Uchiha Tobirama._

Tobirama's brow smoothes a little more on each line, almost daring to allow himself to hope for his Anija, for the union that his Anija is so desperate to see realized—more fairness than he had ever expected, a deal that he can get behind and _push_ this through their stubborn elders if necessary—only to feel a yawning pit open deep in his belly at the last item.

Marriage-hunted. Uchiha Tobirama. It is clear what they want of him.

To cleave brother from brother and have him bound to their yoke rather than the whole of the Senju clan...He presses his fingernails against his scalp, clawing at his hair, and imagines Hashirama accepting the first set of conditions. Imagines Senju shinobi no mono being sent out with inferior weapons and loss after loss of their best and brightest. Hashirama and Touka locked out of all future village decisions and forbidden even to marry.

 _There is always the second option_ , his traitorous mind whispers.

He thinks wife, and his hand trembles. He reads 'Uchiha Tobirama' and a sob fights to tear its way out of his chest. He remembers the Marriage Hunts he's witnessed, and the thought of his near naked form slung over Uchiha Madara's shoulder is enough to make him want to claw his own eyes out.

He tries to convince himself that it is a play, a way to more firmly secure alliances, but he remembers Madara and Izuna's eyes, and automatically notes the differences in writing between the two sets of conditions, and he doubts.

A yoke for the entire clan or the choking chain of marriage for him? The crushing of his brother's hopes and dreams or the quelling of his own?

It is a farce of a choice, an illusion of freedom that makes the words more horrible than they already are.

He stamps his seal to the bottom of the second sheet with only a slight tremor in his hand and then leaves it on his brother's desk, already wanting to snatch it back and burn it in the fire before he even leaves the office.

* * *

The moon cycles through all of its phases only to find him pacing just before Senju lands meet neutral buffer zone, a cloud of chilled breath briefly obscuring his mouth from his brother's view. The night air nips at his bare calves and forearm, attired as he is in the traditional simple yukata and sandals of the prey in a proper marriage hunt.

He has traveled here in the garb, ignoring all of his clan and family members as he passed before their wide disbelieving eyes and pointing fingers, his dignity the only comfort he can find tonight. He draws it around himself like the haori his yukata can't quite become, the yukata he never expected to have to wear at all let alone one that signified his status as the hunted party. It is thin protection against the chilly cold—not quite the bitterness of winter, but certainly the nip of an autumn night—and he is almost, _almost_ glad to see the two Uchiha approach from their side of the buffer zone.

They are firm where he quakes inside. They are implacable where he fears every thought will show on his face. His only solace is their bare feet and even thinner hunter's yukata—for only if the hunter can subdue the hunted with even less at their disposal would they be considered worthy.

Identical dark eyes still his wandering feet and fix him in place like the butterflies his brothers used to collect and pin. They are fiery and intense, but it is a shadow of that which he saw at their last battlefield, and he is calmed somewhat by it. This hunting him must only be a pretense to keep their elders happy. This hunting him must only be a means to bind their clans closer together and not because of any other considerations. Against them both with their full passion behind them, he doesn't stand a chance of escaping, truly a pinned butterfly to display its pretty wings in the living death as an Uchiha wife. But without it...

(He's not known as the fastest shinobi no mono for nothing. There's still a chance he'll get away unmolested, his dignity intact at the end of the night and without the need for his Anija's iryo-ninjutsu.)

It is this thought that firms his resolve to try his hardest to flee successfully and emerge the victor in this farce. He has no desire to become wife to either Madara or his rival and even less to call upon his brother's services at the end of the night to heal any...damage...that may have been wrought upon his body. The same brother that, even now, looks uncertainly between the two bowing Uchiha—an Uchiha custom before a marriage hunt, and not a Senju one at all—and himself, his hands twisting and fluttering like birds uncertain where to safely land.

Anija worries his lower lip and even though he says nothing, the somber look in his wide eyes says it all. He moves to approach Tobirama, as if he's come to the conclusion of an inner struggle, his tentative hand reaching out to grasp Tobirama by the biceps when Uchiha Madara swiftly intervenes, sliding himself between the gap formed between brothers, Anija's outstretched hand suddenly grasped into a shake of approval.

“Hashirama-dono,” the elder Uchiha says, his voice full of the traditional ceremony and none of the rage-filled passion that Tobirama heard every other time he met him. “My brother and I announce our intentions to hunt your brother before all the kami. We will pursue and subdue him and then claim him for the purposes of honourable marriage, to better bind our clans together in the pursuit of peace and end the senseless spilling of blood between our clans.”

The strategist in Tobirama cannot help but be impressed at the skillful reminder of what they have to gain. It is subdued under the larger portion portion that is simply Hashirama's little brother. That part quails as his Anija turns from him, his hand dropping in stilled acquiescence having finally found safe ideas to cling to.

Hashirama's mind turns as it always does toward peace, toward a cessation to their endless fighting, and Tobirama's mind turns, as ever, to Hashirama's, as beloved to him as he always is, no matter the sacrifices he must play at to win his brother's happiness and peace of mind.

And despite what Hashirama thinks of it, it is a sacrifice. The price of their clan's blood is his blood, and the price of their clan's yoke is his yoke. But it is not a sacrifice that he needs to submit to either fawningly or defenselessly. It is not one he needs to walk to the slaughter, mild and meek as a deer brought down by a pack of wolves, its throat about to be torn out on the dark forest floor.

No, he has no intention of being successfully hunted, forced to give his throat up to them in submission as the deer would, his yukata, thin though it is, torn from his body as Uchiha Madara and Uchiha Izuna finalize the hunt and claim him for their own. He has no intention of enduring their undoubtedly disgusted roughness as they take him to bind their clans together for a political union he is not sure Izuna, at the very least, even particularly cares for.

He need only be faster than them, more clever than them, more _determined_ than them to escape. And he is. On all three counts.

He crouches slightly, bunching his leg muscles beneath him, ready to sprint when his Anija gives the signal.

_Keep an eye on Madara, and keep another eye on Izuna. Madara is all heavy jutsu, but Izuna is crafty._

If he's to escape, he'll need all his wits about him, and he'll need to end it fast. If he can get through the forest that comprises the buffer zone, lose his pursuers and return to his Anija after at least one turn of the hourglass, he'll be safe and free. Anija and Madara can have their peace, and Tobirama will have his freedom besides, and even Izuna will undoubtedly content himself to not have Tobirama for a wife.

It is with this tremulous, sparking hope in his chest, the newfound conviction that he _will_ , that he _must_ succeed that Tobirama gives his brother a brief nod.

“I, Senju Hashirama, clan head of the Senju clan accept this marriage hunt's validity in front of the kami, no matter the outcome.”

“You may begin.”

* * *

Earlier that day, Tobirama had made sure to have a light, but protein-filled evening supper, his favorite grilled fish, miso soup, a small helping of steamed rice and even some tonkatsu—rare as pigs are usually smoked and saved for winter provisions.

(He didn't want the energy to be released too soon, he would be in dire need of it come the hunt.)

He uses that energy now, and the energy gained from the umeboshi he'd snacked on right before this began. With a speed even he had not thought possible, he whizzes by like a blur of wind past the dumbfounded Uchiha Madara—built for power—and just managing to evade Uchiha Izuna—fast, almost as fast as him, but not quite, relying on the Sharingan to make up for being just that much slower—and the sudden lunge he makes as he tries to pin Tobirama between his own body and a signature fireball jutsu tossed directly in Tobirama's path.

He's going too fast to stop, and the red, blue, orange and white spark in the night, licking at his hair and his yukata, singing the Senju crest on the front lapel and almost blinding him with its sudden blast of heat and light, shocking against the chill in the air. If he had been perfectly healthy of sight, it would have crippled him. The average shinobi relies so much on their eyes...but he is albino and his sensing is a finely honed blade that he has sharpened again and again and again until it more than compensates for his poor sight.

He uses that sensing now, his body welling with the infused chakra tingling about him and _pivots sharply_ , turning on the outside of his left foot as if he were dancing on a frozen lake...

...But not to Izuna as the younger Uchiha had so clearly hoped. As if Tobirama would fall for such an obvious maneuver. Tobirama's seen enough of the man's tactics to know him now, know intimately the traps his rival revels in, from the simplest of a minefield of exploding kunai, heralding death and severe injury to the inexperienced in Tobirama's clan—if they live, they learn to tread carefully where the younger Uchiha is seen—to herding his enemies, usually Tobirama, with his fireballs until he finds himself directly in front of whatever jutsu his brother and Madara are tossing at each other.

Classic Izuna, the deadly shepherd, to utilize his surroundings effectively. His constantly calculating mind—but no one accuses him of being cold, not like they accuse Tobirama, not when Izuna clearly burns so hotly for family and clan—sees bodies and enemies as mere tools in his deadly dance, and all of the battlefield for him to manipulate and craft as he so pleases.

But Tobirama is just as skilled.

He uses the circular acceleration from his pivot to leap past the Madara diving for him, using the elder Uchiha's clothed back as a springboard to bound directly towards the deep greens and blacks of the forest. Chakra directed to his thigh and calf muscles and one leap, two, three, and he's gone past into the trees, leaving a stumbling Madara to fall right into the radius of the deadly fireball.

Tobirama is not so proud that he cannot learn from his enemy and rival.

* * *

A turn of the hourglass later finds his breath curling about him in little puffs of barely visible steam, the leaves rustling above the bough where he's slumped—just a little further, he just needs to push himself a little further—warm almost hot blood seeping out of the long stratches up his legs and the burns on his chest and shoulder just starting to peel from his rudimentary attempts at healing. He's bone-tired, forced to dart from tree to tree like a terrified squirrel chased down by shrieking hawks, and he's heartsick, and he just wants this to be _over_.

The next breath catches in his throat, and it's only with effort that he suppresses the sob that threatens to tear is way up his chest and out of his throat, nearly choking on it. He presses one shaking hand to his mouth, heaving dryly and as softly as possible, his ears twitching for any hint of sound.

(He's exhausted. If he had more energy, he'd infuse his chakra and cast his senses out through the forest like the sprawling roots of the great trees that Anija conjures into life. But he needs to save his energy. He's so, so close to escape...and Uchiha Madara and Uchiha Izuna are surprisingly focused on him. For the first time, he has to consider the possibility that they're in this charade seriously.)

A faint crack of a twig and rustling—forest critters from the regularity of the sounds. The mournful cry of the autumn wind, just picking up, with a hint of the moisture that heralds an incoming storm—not nearly soon enough for him to use. The shriek of a raptor as it dives after its prey...

And a sudden unnatural silence.

Tobirama swallows, shifts and leaps, running through the burn in his legs, the ache in his feet and the dread in his heart. He leaps from Izuna's shuriken that bury themselves where he was just resting...and suddenly Madara is in front of him, his arms spread to catch him in a spinning tackle, tossing him around with the force of his own momentum and then pinning him to the forest floor with his wider bulk.

He thrashes wildly, terror fueling his adrenaline, his kunai striking hard and true against the unprotected back of the heavier elder Uchiha before it is ripped out of his hands by the younger. He bucks against the weight, kicking desperately like the deer just about to be pulled down by the snapping jaws of ravenous wolves. Fine hands—Izuna's hands, he'd know them anywhere—fists in his hair and slams his head down hard against the hardened dirt floor, and he fights to clear the darkening edges around his vision, fights to still the spinning of his head...before he feels the biting cold edge of a sharp blade against his throat.

He considers continuing to struggle, continuing to fight, letting the blade do its work and _end_ all of this. But then he remembers Anija's worried eyes. He remembers Anija's hopes and his capacity to love.

He goes limp in their hold, Madara on top of him, Izuna crouched over his head, his bloody kunai still clutched in the younger Uchiha's hand.

It's over.

He's lost.

He's theirs.

* * *

Back when he first came to his decision and accepted the proposal, he had considered what would happen if they were successful in trapping and capturing him. Immediate violation, he had thought, his fingers clenching into impotent fists by his side, rough hands yanking apart his legs, the fundoshi ripped off of him as he's forcibly put on display. Or perhaps a cold, clinical penetration, uncaring dispassionate eyes spearing him even as his body is invaded by an organ almost as stiff as the body on top of him. He had trembled at the thought of either.

The reality though...

A warm mouth engulfs one nipple, another mouth the other, and Tobirama _almost_ wishes for the brutality of force. His body responds immediately, _arching_ into their clever mouths even as his throat cries out in a chorus of “no” and “stop.”

The two Uchiha ignore him and the top of their tongues scrape against his quickly hardening nubs, leaving goosebumps in their wake, a sensation both so very unexpectedly sweet and so utterly base and awful that his body doesn't know whether to writhe against them or shrink away.

This...this...

The sharpness of teeth—not so much the pain as the _shock_ of it—causes him to nearly buck against them, and it earns him a light slap to his inner thigh. They suck and lap at him, alternating teeth and tongue to breast and neck and thigh and mouth...seemingly devouring him whole in a quest to map out his entire body. Their clever and practiced mouths and hands play him like a fine instrument, and his body is singing out to the tune of their making before long.

Tobirama is shaking and trembling and so hard that a slight breeze might set him off, and so ashamed of himself that he can only lie there, face averted to the side, the tears slowly seeping out of his eyes to stain the dirt and grass beneath him.

Uchiha Madara is the first to push himself up from between Tobirama's legs and regard him, his eyes full of dark hunger, its flames only fueled by the tastes he's already taken of the trapped Senju. His cock lies heavy and threatening against Tobirama's vulnerable thigh, its presence a shameful reminder of how this night must end.

Feathery long hair fan against his throat and against his chest as soft full lips brush his ear to whisper in it— “Such sweet tears from such a cold Senju...are you broken and melted already, my ice prince?” — and he swallows at the taunt, squeezing his eyes shut against those mocking black eyes, more hot liquid leaking out of them at the motion.

Nothing makes him feel more open, more vulnerable, more _wretched_ than Uchiha Madara watching him silently cry against the dirt.

He turns his head and sees Izuna's dark head behind Madara's and bites his lip, more tears spilling down his ashen cheeks. Nothing is more humiliating than Madara watching him...except having his rival watch as well.

“I don't know whether I will enjoy the tightness of his body as much as I do seeing him ground into the dirt like this. The great Oni of the Senju, weeping and trembling at our touch like a maiden at her first deflowering...”

The mouth now against his throat tilts into a terrible smile against him. “Isn't he though? He is to be our wife...and he is untouched in this way. Tonight, he is _ours_ to deflower and rouse to the heights of pleasure.”

He shivers anew at their words, an awful picture of his near inevitable capitulation painting itself in horrifying clarity into his mind. Pain, he can tolerate. He is shinobi no mono. But this...this...This slow and steady heat rising in his veins...this insipidness overtaking his mind and senses...this, he cannot.

He rallies his courage then. Better to goad them into pain and have it quickly be over than to break utterly, to give in completely to the mad brothers' desires. Better to remind his traitorous body of their baseness than to succumb to the heavy rush of pleasure rising within him.

“Are you two just going to sit there and watch all night? Are all of your actions designed only to hide your lack of prowess? I have performed my part, and I see that yours is all empty talk.”

A hard slap answers him—Madara, for Izuna would fall back upon sharp barbs before he would rough actions—and the sharp pain helps ground him.

He can do this. He will do this. He will survive intact.

“He's so eager for you, Aniki. Perhaps you should do as he asks.”

And then Madara pulls himself upright and yanks his yukata fully open...and Tobirama can feel his breath leaving him at the sight of the Uchiha's cock. He's known for a while that Madara is broader than he is. Shorter, but thicker at the shoulders and more compactly built, but he hadn't thought that extended to his nether regions as well.

He hadn't thought Madara would be so _thick_. Thick and with a length that belies his height.

He licks his lips, a fine tremor capturing his body as he continues to stare.

It's just a cock, he tells himself. It won't be so bad. Surely, he can take it. It isn't _so_ very large...

He's proven wrong when the first oiled finger breaches him, firm and unyielding, forcing itself past his suddenly clenching muscles. He gasps and convulses as it slides deep, burning deep within, and he can feel Izuna's hands—strong despite their slenderness and the fine long fingers—hold him firmly down.

“Easy now,” Madara says, his voice low and almost soothing. “Breathe, and it will get better.”

The finger stills, and he lies there, gasping like a fish on land.

His heart thunders so much that he nearly misses Izuna's chuckles. “You wanted this, my dear Tobirama. So virginal...you'll feel Aniki and I tonight...and the following morning as well.”

At the taunting words, he loses himself for a moment and opens his mouth to plead...only to bite his tongue before the words can escape from his throat. He says instead, “you would do whatever you wished to me at any rate. Nothing I could have said would have made a difference.”

It's a sobering thought, and he sobs with the knowledge that he is utterly helpless beneath their hands, their mouths and their _cocks_ tonight. His permission had been sold for his brother's peace, and his body had been paid for in blood.

“Whatever we wish? No, not that. You will be our wife soon, and Aniki and I will not act dishonorably towards you.”

“Is this not dishonorable?”

It is Madara who answers him this time, with a crook of the finger still buried deep inside of him. Dark chuckles rumble against his belly as he spasms around the slick digit, shocked by the electric jolt of pure _sensation_ through him. “It is not dishonorable to give pleasure to our wife, no. And make no mistake, my icy Senju...we _will_ make you lose yourself to pleasure tonight.”

He's gasping again, his eyes wide and unseeing, his mouth opened in a breathless, “oh.”

The intrusion doesn't seem so awful now. The digit slides itself in and out, leaving a trail of sparks behind, and Tobirama finds he can accept it, can accept the feeling without tensing too badly—and then a second finger enters him, as relentless and unyielding as the first, twisting cruelly in him, and he's shaking, he's flying apart at the seams, he's wailing...!

A pair of thin lips—Izuna's—swallow his cries, and he's pathetically grateful to his rival, pathetically grateful that his Anija will not hear him and come to find him splayed open upon the dirt and grass like a cheap whore.

Thankfully Madara is experienced, and he goes slowly, his fingers stilling whenever it seemed that Tobirama will hurt himself with his own thrashing. He pushes slowly, inexorably, and ever more deeply into the Senju, rubbing against the electrifying spot within him every time, and the sparks of pleasure soon return, his cock filling out again from where it had flagged at the initial penetration.

Soon, much too soon, he is thrashing for another reason entirely. Madara works his hand inside Tobirama, his fingers pressing and pushing and _spreading_ deep inside him, and Tobirama can only moan at the sensation, half-delirious with pleasure-pain.

The fingers thrust inside, in and out, in and out, cresting within him, and it's...it's...

It's...it's...it's a wave swelling inside of him. It's heat building in his veins and running up his skin to light all his nerves on fire.

He shakes his head desperate to ignore the feeling.

No!

The calluses graze inside and jolt hard into him. He bites his lip and tastes blood, trying to keep himself still.

No!

The fingers stroke and twist and plunge so deeply. He shudders uncontrollably against the invasion, torn between pushing himself deeper onto the fingers or pulling himself away.

No!

A hand strokes his sweat-covered brow, and he can only mew helplessly, blindly against it.

“Beautiful. If I had known what my rival would look like in the throes of pleasure...”

He's writhing, gasping, bucking against it all, when Madara's fingers abruptly withdraw, and he's left blinking owlishly at the sudden emptiness.

What...?

But before he has a real chance to wonder, Madara hefts up his thighs, aligns himself and he _pushes_.

And Tobirama goes very, very still.

It's...It's too big. He'll burst. He'll...

All the pleasure flees him, and he can't stop himself from trying to get away. Only Izuna's hand against his shoulders, only Izuna's body behind his back, stops him, forcing him to bear the cock splitting him open, pushing more deeply than the fingers and filling him in a way they never did, a deep and awful violation that he cannot ignore.

Madara stills within him, a mercy he had not hoped to beg for, and Tobirama lays there, spread open and helpless around the thick cock inside of him, trapped between the heavier Uchiha on top of him and the slighter Uchiha behind him.

Soon, too soon, Madara grasps him by the hip and waist, and before Tobirama can so much as tighten against the intrusion, that massive cock withdraws almost to the tip to _plow_ right back into him, spearing him open with each strong, smooth, slow thrust.

Tobirama writhes upon the thickness inside of him, parting him as a plow splits the fertile earth, wailing against Izuna's mouth even as his body is jolted against the younger Uchiha in a constant rhythm.

And after the first few initial thrusts, once Tobirama has proven that he can take the strength, the power behind those thrusts, Madara does not hold back. Faster and faster and harder, he hammers into the hapless Senju, pounding into that twitching, aching, spasming hole like his ancestors pounded steel against anvil, crashing Tobirama into Izuna like waves upon a cliff until Tobirama is clenching uncontrollably around him, his body a desperate bucking thing barely contained by Madara's grip on his hips and Izuna's steady presence against his back.

As Tobirama is coming, convulsing wildly around him, Uchiha Madara drives into him as if in a frenzy of motion, stabbing harshly, furiously into the Senju. With a roar that surely even Hashirama heard from where he was still waiting at the edge of the forest, the eldest Uchiha releases deep within Tobirama, filling him with his warm spend.

It is at that point that Tobirama loses consciousness.

* * *

He stirs against a broad chest, rocked to wakefulness by a gentle loping stride. It is not the first time he woke that night, having come to to Izuna using him, and then Madara again, and then them both, but it is the first time that he has not woken to a cock in his ass or in his mouth.

His ass is sore, his mouth is swollen, but he will not need healing. Nothing is torn within him, nothing broken, save his pride and his dignity. Now, now his ordeal is finally over. Now...

He shifts underneath the cloak they'd unsealed as a sign of their victory. He infuses a bit of chakra to see where they are, and then stills as he recognizes the chakra signature they are nearing.

Anija...

“You should rest, Senju,” Madara's deep voice interrupts his thoughts. “Rest...because in the morning, you will no longer be Senju.”

He stiffens.

Ah yes. The purpose of this entire affair. To strip him of his Senju identity.

He is wrong. His ordeal isn't over.

It's only just begun.

He turns his face against that broad chest and, hidden beneath the cloak, begins to weep.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Comment fic Fest: Marriage Hunt Aftermath](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19908325) by [drelfina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drelfina/pseuds/drelfina)




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